


Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend

by bookjunkiecat



Series: Longings [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Engagement, F/M, Gen, Infidelity, Mentions of Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 23:14:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9094939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookjunkiecat/pseuds/bookjunkiecat
Summary: Molly is trying to embrace a big new change in her life; John Watson is moving on. Mary works on keeping John happy. Greg Lestrade reflects on how Sherlock's suicide has affected those who knew him.





	

         “I just need to pop in here and have my ring sized,” Molly said, as Meena followed her into the jeweler’s shop. “Tom said he would have used one of my rings as a guide, only I don’t normally wear any rings!” She laughed happily, and admired her brand new engagement ring, which she was jealously clutching to keep from sliding off her finger.

          Meena rolled her eyes good-naturedly, “He should have asked me for advice. Hello, I _am_ the best friend!”

          “He wanted it to be a surprise.” The smile on Molly’s face wouldn’t quit. Tom had proposed a few night’s prior, and for the moment they were keeping the engagement secret, but of course she had told her best friend.

          “I know how to keep a secret.” Meena spoke lightly but was unable to keep a slightly bitter tone out of her voice.

          Molly stopped, and faced Meena, fighting tears, “Oh please…please, Meen, don’t be like that. He wasn’t trying to shut you out. You just don’t like him. But it’s only because you don’t know him that well.”

          Meena softened, “Luv, I’m not trying to cause trouble in paradise, really I’m not. And it isn’t that I don’t like Tom. I do…honestly though? I don’t think he’s the one for you. And I think if you were honest with yourself you’d admit it.”

          “Why would I have said yes, otherwise?” Molly looked away.

          “Because you’re thirty-five and you want to settle down. Because he looks a bit like that bugger you were so keen on. Maybe even because you’re madly polite and wouldn’t want to hurt his feelings by turning down his proposal.”

          There was an element to truth in that last statement. Molly flushed, and toyed with her ring. “I know sometimes I’m too nice, but even I won’t marry a man just because I’m polite.”

          “I should bloody well hope not,” Meena grinned at her. “That’s carrying things too far.”

          “Molly? Molly Hooper?”

          She turned at the sound of her name, and then smiled delightedly, “John!” She was so glad to see him after months and months that for a minute she forgot to feel guilty because she was hiding such a tremendous secret from him. It looked like he was doing alright for himself, however; he was fit, smiling…wearing a mustache.

          “What are you doing here?” She asked, trying to tear her gaze away from his mustache.

          “Shopping for a ring,” John said, smiling (beneath his mustache).

          “You don’t wear jewelry, do you?” Molly asked the mustache. Suddenly she realized why he was here, looking so well, smiling, shopping for a ring. “Oh. _Oh_. Oh! John, how lovely!”

          He smiled at her enthusiasm and accepted her hug, returning it with a friendly squeeze. “I think so, yeah. Hope Mary’ll be as excited at the idea.”

          “Mary, eh? I guess I haven’t met her.”

          “No, no, Mary and I didn’t meet until after…until after I moved from Baker Street.”

          “Tell me all about her while I give them my ring to be sized.”

          John started, it was his turn to grin and give her a congratulatory kiss. Meena rolled her eyes, “Ugh, you lovey-dovey types!” She smiled teasingly, “this much emotion is unseemly in Brits, don’t you know that? We’re meant to be more phlegmatic.”

          Molly laughed and introduced her friends to one another. She saw the regretful way Meena sized up John Watson; he was just her type. Molly wondered why she hadn’t thought to introduce them in years past. Oh well, water under the bridge now. John had clearly moved on from Sherlock and was headed for an altogether different life.

          They lingered in the shop, catching up, but after a bit, John had to go; he thanked them for their advice and opinions on rings, and promised to stay in touch. Molly arranged to pick her ring up in three weeks (her fingers were so small that a lot of extra work would go into resizing her ring), and then tucked her arm through Meena’s. “Come, let’s go have cocktails and talk about anything except for weddings.”

          “Yeah?” Meena smiled happily, squeezed her arm. “I knew I liked you for a reason, Hooper.”

          “Let’s go to that place that serves the fried bleu cheese stuffed olives.”

          “And that’s why I love you!”

 

******

 

          John was lovely. Mary knew precisely the breadth and depth of her luckiness to have found him. Sometimes she felt a cold terror at the thought that at any moment this life could be ripped from her. She was determined that nothing would stand in the way of their happiness.

          At the moment, the only obstacle to that was that John appeared to be having trouble asking her to marry him.

          She knew it was coming, could read the signs a mile away. John might surprise her and do it in an unexpected place or with more fanfare than she anticipated, but she knew where this was headed. There wasn’t any rush, she had enjoyed every minute of their courtship and she fully intended on appreciating each moment that led up to his proposal. When something was this good, there was no need to act hastily.

          Alright, so every once in a while she got a bit bored. Not with John; no, there was nothing boring about John. Even when they were lazing about on a Sunday morning, drinking endless cups of tea, and sharing the papers, she enjoyed his company. In a lot of ways they were more alike than someone might think, looking in from the outside. In all the ways that counted, they were suited.

          But sometimes life was a little…slow. The clinic could be interesting, but there were days when she wanted to scream if one more pensioner with a rash came in. And she had made some nice friends since she moved to London, had surrounded herself with them, in fact. Their company got a bit old after a while however; there was only so much talk about shoes and celebrities and telly that she could stomach.

          There had been a flurry of excitement two months ago when she and John moved in to their grand new flat together. It was gorgeous, spacious (by London standards), painted white, full of every interesting fall and shadow of light from the tall windows, and best of all, theirs. Mary had certainly had more fun than she anticipated, getting domestic, settling in with John in their new place; one that was their own, shared from the beginning.

          Living together presented its own challenges; they had spent a great deal of time at one another’s places during their relationship, but being with someone all the time…working and living with them. It was interesting. Surprisingly it didn’t make her feel overwhelmed to spend that much time with John. Because she loved him of course, but also because it gave her a feeling of safety. She would be there to make sure nothing ever hurt John.

          It had been over a year since they first started dating, and they were still in the honeymoon phase; most of their free time was spent alone, but he did ask sometimes if she wanted to go out with her girlfriends, or if they should have a few friends over for drinks. Because he was amiable, he got along with their coworkers, and she arranged a few nights at the pub quiz, or an outing to the cinema with them. But so far he hadn’t noticed that he had no friends of his own. Losing Sherlock had stunted something in him, and he shut himself off from his former life. Mary hadn’t met any of his former friends and acquaintances, although she had heard a good deal about them. He spoke with affection of them, but he couldn’t seem to bring himself to open back up to that old life.

          She _had_ met his sister Harry; as far as she was concerned, John was the success of that family. Harry had a high-stress job in finance, a broken marriage, a drinking problem and a huge chip on her shoulder. They didn’t find many occasions to have dinner with John’s sister.

          As far as she could tell, John hadn’t found anything lacking in their life together. She intended on keeping it that way.

 

******

 

          “So how do you know him?” Meena asked curiously, stirring her vodka martini with the ornate bamboo swizzle stick that had been stabbed through two pickled onions. She took a delicate sip and licked her lips.

           Molly grimaced sympathetically; she hated the taste of martinis. She thought they sounded sophisticated, and they were certainly popular, but she always felt like she had taken a drink of lighter fluid. Mycroft had introduced her to Manhattans and the Old Fashioned, both of which she enjoyed, but today she was drinking a gin and tonic, as the bar was busy and she hated ordering anything too complicated when the bartender looked frazzled.

          Besides, the gin and tonic went nicely with the olives, which were yummy. She ate another one and promised herself she’d start reducing soon; they hadn’t set a date yet, but she didn’t want to be in a rush to get fit at the last minute. She felt another of those panicky bubbles of happiness at the thought that she was now an engaged woman. No, not panicky, that was silly, why would she feel panicked? Anxious, that was probably a better word; yes, anxious. She was a worrier, and no doubt her sub-conscious was already stressing over wedding planning.

          However, she had sworn to Meena that they were done talking weddings for the day, and she didn’t want to be one of those self-obsessed brides.

          “How do I know who—oh, John?” At Meena’s nod, she went on, “We met at Bart’s, through Sherlock. They were mates.”

          The look of incredulity on her best friend’s face made her laugh, “What?”

          “That wanker had mates?” Meena and Sherlock had met once. It had not gone well.

          “Not a lot, but yeah. He and John shared a flat…John was pretty devastated when Sherlock died.” Molly felt the hot rush of shame she always battled when she had to talk about Sherlock’s death. “I haven’t seen him in ages, he cut himself off from all of us. I guess maybe too many reminders? Anyway, it was good seeing him again. I’d like to meet the woman who was able to capture his interest. I never thought I’d see him settle down. He was always dating a new woman.”

          Meena sighed dramatically, “Damn, he really sounds perfect for me. I wonder if they swing?”

          “Meena!” Molly squealed softly, torn between laughter and shock. Her outspoken companion never ceased to amaze her. They were so different, but they had been as close as sisters since they met in uni. Meena had ended up dropping out of her art history courses and spending eight months backpacking in Southeast Asia, and then she taught English in Bangladesh for a few months. Following a lover back to the UK, she had ended up crashing on Molly’s couch for a month when the affair ended; she then she got a series of jobs at boutiques, salons, art galleries and supplemented her income with bartending for a mate who ran a small catering business.

          Her fluctuating career path, her constant stream of lovers, the emerald green streak she was currently sporting in her newly cropped hair…it was all so different from how Molly lived her life that a lot of people couldn’t picture them as friends. But she loved Meena and they had been there for one another through failed relationships, botched hairstyles, bad job interviews, and all the highs and lows of life. She loved the breath of fresh air that Meena always brought to her sometimes dull life, and Meena valued Molly’s level headed approach to the future.

          “I doubt John swings,” Molly said, fighting a blush. “Greg did tell me once that apparently John was known as “Three Continents” Watson when he was in the Army. He has quite a history with the ladies, apparently.”

          “Which one is Greg?”

          “The copper. You met him that night we all went to the pub for my thirty-first birthday.”

          “Oh yeah, the silver fox,” Meena waggled her eyebrows, “He was gorgeous. I could have gone for him, but he was too busy chatting up the barmaid.”

          “Greg’s a bit of a flirt,” Molly admitted. “He’s back with his wife now— I think. Every time I turn around they’ve split. They divorced once but then they remarried less than a year later. I guess the attraction is too strong.”

 

******

 

          Everyone in London must come here all the time, Molly thought in amazement, as Greg Lestrade hailed her. She had just picked up her resized engagement ring and had turned at the sound of her name being called. They hugged and he asked her what she was doing there. Even though it wasn’t public knowledge yet, she admitted to being engaged and accepted his congratulations and the enthusiastic kiss he gave her.

          Thinking of the similar encounter with John Watson three weeks prior, she shook her head, “Fancy seeing you here.”

          “Diane and I had a bit of a barney, I thought she might forgive me faster if I brought her a little something. I’m tired of sleeping on the couch,” he winked roguishly.

          “You’re always in trouble with the missus, aren’t you?” She chuckled, “I’m surprised you don’t have a jeweler on retainer.”

          “Naw, most of the time a kiss and a cuddle is all it takes,” he bragged unselfconsciously.

          “Well I hope whatever you get her works. But remember, an apology is the most important part.”

          “She does love to be right. Say, Molls, tell me what you think of these earrings?”

          Molly was doubtful, she didn’t know Greg’s wife well enough to judge, having only met her once or twice, and in the most casual of ways. “Only if she likes to dress up a lot…those are a bit fancy for every day.”

          He regarded them thoughtfully, “Whatever you think. I thought she might like all the little dangly bits.”

          “You know her better of course,” Molly commented diplomatically.

          “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” Greg spoke absently, but she thought he sounded serious. Maybe things were worse at the Lestrade household than a pair of earrings were going to be able to fix. She hoped for his sake that they worked it out; personally she found their relationship exhausting, and she was only seeing the fringe of things.

          He finally decided on a necklace and thanked her for helping, “You busy? We could grab an early supper.”

          Molly was regretful, “I’d love to, Greg, but I’ve got to meet Tom. We’re going to his mum’s for her birthday.” She tried to keep the reluctance out of her voice, but must not have done a very good job. Greg gave her a keen glance, but all he said was a lighthearted, “Just remember, Molls, you aren’t related to them by law until the wedding is over.”

          She laughed and they parted ways, but as she made her way to the Tube, she reflected that it sounded pretty wonderful not to be related to Tom’s mum. His dad was an old dear, but completely subservient to his wife; she ruled the family with a firm hand. Tom’s two older sisters still dropped into the family house every day, they were on the phone constantly; gossip flew through the Beech family like influenza through the hospital. Tom was under the assumption that Molly and his mum had bonded, but the truth was that they were still in opposing corners, sussing out the competition. Molly had her suspicions that she might come out the loser if a bout were ever declared.

          Since Tom hadn’t told his family he was proposing, and he was in fact planning on announcing the news of their betrothal tonight at his mother’s sixtieth birthday dinner, there was a good chance the boxing gloves might come out sooner than she thought.

          Shaking off her worries, she hurried to catch her bus; Molly was going to take extra care with her appearance, since she was still very uncomfortable with Tom’s family. Of course, this was a special occasion, but perhaps she would never be comfortable enough to wear trainers and no make-up?

 

******

 

          Not for the first time, he thought that Molly Hooper was a cutie. Incredibly, Greg hadn’t noticed it at first; he was a lover of women and he could usually spot a sexy bird right away. But Molly had slipped under his radar for a long time. Nearly a year into their acquaintance he finally saw her in something besides scrubs and a lab coat. Her personal style was a tad…eccentric, but her general appeal shown through, baggy trousers aside. Then a few years back he encountered her at a Christmas party at Baker Street, and was stunned to see her looking sexy and sophisticated in a tight dress. Ever since he’d had a bit of a letch for her.

          His relationship with Diane was tumultuous, to say the least, and they neither one of them were very good at fidelity, but he never made a move on Molly. The reasons were threefold: he didn’t want to wreck a perfectly good personal and professional relationship; Molly didn’t seem the type to get involved with a married man; and lastly but not by any means of least importance…she was firmly in love with Sherlock Holmes.

          Granted, he was dead, but Greg had his doubts that his death had changed Molly’s feelings on the manner. She was a very loyal person, and her dedication to Sherlock’s memory probably trumped any feelings she might develop for anyone else.

          Thinking about Sherlock had depressed Greg’s naturally high spirits, and he shoved the gift wrapped box with Diane’s new necklace in his coat pocket and slouched off down the street. His frequent—okay, sometimes too-frequent—use of Sherlock’s brilliance to help solve cases, as well as his stubborn insistence that the bugger wasn’t the charlatan everyone had been screaming he was, had effectively knocked him down more than a few pegs in the estimation of his superiors—as well as quite a few of his colleagues. He’d been roundly reprimanded (both officially and unofficially) as well as losing a pay grade; he’d been relegated to desk work for six months after, and been the subject of a lot of whispered gossip.

          Worse than that, however, were the feelings of guilt and grief that he grappled with. Greg tried to tell himself that Sherlock’s suicide wasn’t to be laid at his door, but the guilty feelings lingered. Holmes could be a right bastard, but he’d also been phenomenal at what he did; and despite Sherlock’s stunning lack of empathy with the rest of the human race, Greg had developed a feeling of big-brotherly fondness for him over the seven years of their acquaintance.

          Sometimes he imagined that Sherlock wasn’t dead, that it was all a big hoax; but that was just wishful thinking. Sure, it didn’t make sense for him to have killed himself. Sherlock Holmes was a lot of things, but a coward wasn’t one of them. Greg knew it wasn’t very sensitive of him, but he had been a copper for a long time, and he saw the fallout of suicides. It might seem like the only way out for the one ending their life, but the aftermath affected too many people in too many negative ways for him to ever see it as anything other than the coward’s way out. Especially in a case like Sherlock’s when it was a matter of scandal and criminal offenses, rather than depression which had driven him to choosing to jump.

          Thinking of Sherlock made him brood on suicide, and suicide made him think of his mum; which in turn led him to thinking about his shitty childhood. By the time he reached home he’d thoroughly depressed himself, and he just grunted at Diane when she asked him where he had been. They got into a screaming match and he slammed off to the spare bedroom he used as a home office, necklace and apology forgotten.


End file.
